


A Place to Rest (Part 8/9)

by rubycrowned



Series: A Place to Rest [8]
Category: 1D - Fandom, One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you know where your love is? Do you think that you lost it? You felt it so strong, but nothing's turned out how you wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place to Rest (Part 8/9)

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS IT GUYS. THIS IS THE FINAL INSTALLMENT OF A PLACE TO REST (well ok excluding the epilogue but its really the blu-ray special features more than anything else so I'm not counting it tbh). It's pretty late compared to normal and I'm sorry about that, but omg look at that word count - I think that deserves the extra few days its taken. I apologise for any mistakes; it's unbeta'd because I wanted all my regular beta's to get to read it for the first time in it's completed state like the rest of you. Uh, this is going to be loosely dedicated to two songs this time around; firstly 'Kiss Me' by Ed Sheeran because please I'm still not over that concert and also the story behind that song is perf. Also '1000 Years' by Christina Perri.

“Liam?”

Zayn’s voice is rough, and his sleep-addled brain is still trying to catch up with the last thirty seconds of his life.

“Zayn, I’m…I’m at the hospital,” Liam’s voice sounds strained and near breaking. Zayn tries not to think about the only other time he’s heard Liam like this because Anastasia- she has to be fine.

“Please; will you come? I need- Will you come for Ana?”

Zayn falters, but only out of his own need to register what is happening, to push down unnamed, unwanted feelings; he’s already tugging on an old pair of sweats that he finds on the floor.

“Yeah,” he nods to himself, even though Liam can’t see him, “for her.”

He scribbles down the hospital and ward information Liam gives him, and is out the door as soon as he can pull on a hoodie.

The entire trip, Zayn stares resolutely out the window of the cab and chants to himself  _for her, for Ana, for Tas_ until it becomes an endless siren in his head. _For herAnaTas._

It’s not enough to drown out the whisper.

_ For him. _

***

Zayn walks through the door of the hospital and tries to follow the directions Liam had given him with as much confidence as possible; attempts to hide his terror that someone will question his being there, his right to see his…Anastasia.

He finds Liam in the waiting area of the surgical ward, head all but between his knees and Zayn wants to hold him; every fibre of his being is burning with the need to comfort him, to go against everything he has spent the past months trying to beat back and smother.

Only the twitch of his fingers against his leg gave any sign of Zayn’s inner argument as he approached the huddled figure.

“What’s happened, Liam? Is she okay?” The words come out low and a little desperate. It might just be the most emotion Zayn has allowed himself to express around Liam since he left; it only took one phone call for everything to be flipped one-eighty once more.

Because Zayn can’t stop Liam looking up at him with chocolate eyes, with fears and cracks which bring back too many memories. And he can’t stop Liam from latching onto Zayn like an anchor, dragging him into the hard plastic seat next to him. He doesn’t stop Liam from searching out the familiar safety of an arm around his shoulder and his face at Zayn’s neck. And he doesn’t stop  _himself_  from rubbing his thumb into Liam’s upper arm in steady, calming patterns while Liam tries to explain how they had ended up in a hospital at five in the morning, on a non-descript Wednesday, wrapped around each other like the world was ending.

Fortunately, the world isn’t ending; not today. Liam slowly recounts the story; Zayn learns Anastasia is off in a theatre somewhere, having surgery performed, which should be terrifying but the more Zayn hears, the more he finds the bands which had been constricting his ribs – forcing the air from his lungs and refusing to let it back in – begin to relax.

Anastasia had been feeling miserable most of the afternoon; Liam had put it down to a childhood bug, there was a cold going around her friends - she hadn’t seen much of them lately due to the summer break, but there had been someone’s birthday the previous weekend. She didn’t have a runny nose or a cough, but she hadn’t been too interested in dinner, and Liam had noticed she felt a bit warm when he gave her a bath. Still, just because it was July didn’t mean people didn’t get the flu, so Liam gave her some liquid paracetamol and tucked her into his own bed so that she didn’t have to call out or come find him if she felt ill during the night.

When he was woken up a little after one a.m. to a grizzly girl who’s damp curls were matted to her forehead and, soon after waking her father, threw up rather spectacularly (thankfully into the bowl he’d had the forethought to place next to the bed), Liam was concerned. And when he took in her pale features yet flushed cheeks, her glazed eyes and the temperature that was edging closer and closer to 40 degrees, Liam was worried enough that he wrapped Ana’s p.j. clad body in a soft blanket, pressed a cool, damp flannel to her forehead and placed her gently in the car, driving her straight to A and E, trying not to think of big, scary words like  _meningitis_.

For what is probably the first example Zayn has ever heard of, Liam and Ana were taken almost straight through to see a doctor when they reached the hospital, only having to fill out a couple forms before they were waved through to the next room. Liam tried not to overhear words similar to the ones he had been trying to avoid for the past hour and a bit, spoken in undertones by those around him.

But, in the best piece of luck of the night, it only took a brief examination by Dr Mackenzie – a youngish woman who’s eyes had widened ever so slightly as she compared the faces before her to the names on the admissions form, but who was as professional and kind as anyone could be expected to be in a busy hospital, let alone at three in the morning – to determine that Liam’s biggest fear could be put to rest. When Anastasia had cried out sharply in pain, not as the doctor had pressed on her tummy, but when she lifted her hand back off, almost in a bouncing movement, Dr Mackenzie had given herself a small nod and, after apologising to both Ana and Liam for the distress the exam had caused, and having completed a couple other checks, she told Liam that they were going to take Ana up to the surgical floor to have her appendix removed. Appendicitis wasn’t common in children her age, but there were more than enough cases for her to know that there was a high chance of rupture - and therefore severe complications - if they didn’t take her through immediately.

There wasn’t much time for Liam to take in what was happening, to try and explain to a whimpering and cuddly toddler what was going to happen, before they took Anastasia away to be prepped for surgery. Dr Mackenzie stayed behind with him briefly, having passed Ana’s care onto the surgical team, before returning to the next patient in the overly fluorescent waiting room; she had hesitantly squeezed his shoulder, given him a warm smile, had asked if there was anyone they could call to come sit with him, be with him while he waited. Liam had told her  _no, she only has me_ , and had been directed to the correct waiting area, where someone would come find him when Anastasia was done, ready to be moved to the paediatric wing.

It had been sitting there alone that Liam had realised that it wasn’t fair or true, what he had said to the doctor; whether he had admitted it or not lately, Liam knew there was someone who cared about Ana nearly as much as he did. Who would come if she needed them.

He called Zayn.

***

Zayn had broken much of his contact with Liam, after he moved back out of the house and returned to his apartment; only seven months later than – and a million months before – he had intended to.

It was a loss of contact that felt completely foreign because, even when Liam was a newlywed and Zayn was busy forging a solo name for himself, they had still made the effort. And even if Zayn saw more of Liam now than during that period of time, there was still an empty void stretching galaxies between them across the room; a distance which seemed unsurpassable.

Because they did see each other regularly enough; Zayn was busy recording and the long days left him precious little free time, but Liam still brought Ana over when he had days off to visit him. It was a little strange for both her and Zayn because, even though they were now in the same city, Ana probably saw her Uncle Zayn less often than when he was halfway across the world on tour. It was balanced somewhat by the fact that now she got to see him in person; he was there to play and chase and tumble with, to have her own box of toys in the corner of the lounge just for when she visited the apartment. But there was also the fact that, whether Ana saw it as a plus or minus, this time she had Zayn all to herself; there was never any Liam to be seen. He dropped her off, would exchange a couple meaningless comments with Zayn – almost like they were no more than acquaintances, or high school friends you never cared enough to keep in touch with – then would offer up excuses to duck out and get groceries, or run to an appointment, until he came to pick Ana up and by then it was close to dinnertime and he had  _put on a casserole this morning so sorry we can’t stay._

They were also ensured to spend at least one night a week together – usually it was Friday - which was set aside for their ‘group date night’, as Harry lovingly referred to them, and which he religiously nagged them all about endlessly if they even considered skipping.

Sometimes he thought he saw Harry glancing sadly between Zayn and Liam on their nights out, each sitting at opposite ends of their table or booth or simply standing as far apart as was ever physically possible in a tight-knit circle of five. And Zayn was aware that they didn’t interact in a way that was normal for  _Zayn and Liam_ , even discounting the time since September when they had been near inseparable; he could still feel a wire tugging at his chest, taut and frayed but steadfastly leading him straight to Liam (and he could never figure out if it was trying to tug itself out of its attachment to Liam, to finally free him, or whether it was still doggedly trying to pull Zayn back in close, to chase after his heart, hiding somewhere deep within Liam’s chest, his hands, his eyes). But he had kidded himself that maybe the others hadn’t noticed just how forced their relationship had become; of course they had, they still knew each other better than they knew themselves for the most part. They had just all seemed to, for a reason Zayn wasn’t entirely sure of, left them both to sort themselves out in their own mulish time.

Zayn could never quite decide if he was grateful or not.

***

The night’s events don’t take long to retell; probably only a quarter hour has passed since Zayn first entered the ward.

In that time, the wall had been broken down between them, completely for the first time Zayn thought since the night of Anna’s birthday. But it had also rebuilt itself almost as quickly; by the time Liam finishes speaking he is fully back in his own seat; the only sign of support remaining is the hand which lingers on Liam’s shoulder, and which he seems to show no sign of shrugging off. Zayn leaves it there.

They fall into silence; not uncomfortable but still slightly on edge, and it isn’t just the waiting for some sort of news, although their heads lift up each time a nurse walks past or the door swings open.

Zayn tries to covertly study Liam next to him, whose gaze has returned to inspecting the flecked linoleum floor. His frame looks curled in on itself and his hands clasp onto each other until his interlocked knuckles are white and shaking with the mindless tapping of his foot.

He looks wracked with guilt, Zayn realises.

Zayn isn’t mad with Liam anymore; if he ever really was. He knows that for weeks after he took his still-packed bags to his lavish and lifeless apartment he was mad  _at_  Liam; but it was his decision and its non-conformance to his own which he was angry with, not Liam himself. And as time went on the frustration turned ever further towards himself, more so than it ever was with the man which, even now, he could feel the emotions he’d thought he’d buried starting to resurface, as unhelpful as they were.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

Zayn’s voice is quiet in the near empty room, tentatively breaching the divide between them, and his fingers can feel the tensing of Liam’s muscles at the broken silence. Zayn doesn’t remove his hand though; if anything he digs the tips of his fingers in a little harder when Liam shakes his head.

“You know what can happen if your appendix ruptures?” Liam doesn’t wait for a response, small voice getting smaller as he continues. “You can die. Not very often, but in kids like Ana, that are so little, you can die.”

“But Liam. Ana’s appendix didn’t rupture. You told me they got to it in time.”

“It hadn’t ruptured when they took her away. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen since. She’s been gone for over an hour and a half now; they said it wasn’t a long procedure…what if something’s gone wrong? I should’ve brought her in sooner; she wasn’t well, I  _knew_  she was sick. I should have brought her to the hospital earlier, taken her to the doctor yesterday afternoon.”

“Li, you did  _everything_  any good parent would do when their kid was sick. She wasn’t that crook when you put her to bed; you gave her some Calpol to bring her fever down – I know that was about all my Mum ever did for us when we were sick, and it hasn’t even been a whole day since she came down with it. Hell, you put her in bed with you, no matter that if she’d had some bug you’d probably have gotten sick too. And I  _know_  how much you hate getting sick; how bloody grumbly and bitchy you get. It’s enough to rival Lou,” Zayn spots the ghost of a smile, brief as it is, “You put so much blame on yourself sometimes; so much responsibility and burden for every little action of those around you that you can’t see all the good you do – how much it outweighs any tiny, unintentional slip ups. No one else would’ve done anything more than you, Liam. I don’t think you  _could’ve_. You’re the reason she  _did_  get here in time.”

Liam is looking at him now, really looking at him for the first time in what feels like forever. And he looks as though he wants to believe what Zayn is saying, but just isn’t sure he can. It feels a lot like déjà vu.

“I can’t lose her, Zayn. She’s all I have left.”

And Zayn can’t control the sharp intake of breath that strips painfully over his teeth, because there was the reminder that he shouldn’t even be here right now. Liam wasn’t his, even though Zayn still sits there feeling far too much like Liam’s. It should be cruel really, making him come back, time and time again.

But Liam was never cruel.

“First Danielle was taken from me. And I know now, I think…I’ve come to terms with the fact that I couldn’t have done anything about it, even if we shouldn’t have- but then there’s  _you_. Wonderful, beautiful Zayn who saved me. You know that, right? That you saved me? But you I pushed away. I could have had you, I realise now that I wanted to have you, wanted everything you put on offer. And instead I let me fear get the best of me and I shoved you away; not only from me but from Ana. And I’m so sorry for that. For all of our sakes. I’m sorry I screwed up and I’m sorry I called. And I’m sorry because I feel like I failed Ana now on top of everything else and she was the one thing left that I hadn’t made a mess of, that I hadn’t lost. And I can’t lose her too, Zayn.”

_ He can’t- he can’t really think that.  _ But it is Liam, after all.

Still, Zayn just has to stare in wonder at the ducked head next to him, dropped in shame and resignation, to try to figure out just how clueless and guilt-ridden a single man could be, when he had little to no blame to bear. Well, maybe not blameless, but insignificant compared to the sheer goodness that Zayn knows radiates from him.

Zayn is as in trouble as he ever was when it comes to Liam. He was fool to pretend otherwise.

And he can’t quite put it into words right now – how wrong Liam is – so he lets his instinct and his heart take over for once.

Zayn softly,  _softly_ , brushes a thumb over the half hidden cheekbone, tenderly cupping Liam’s face as he leans down to press the most chaste of kisses, but which is spilling at the brim with the most unadulterated adoration, to Liam’s forehead. He allows his eyelids to flutter shut for the shortest of moments;  _home_  finally found once more in the stark sterility of a hospital-

“Mr Payne? Liam Payne?”

Both men almost leap out of their skins at the voice by the nurse’s station. A woman with a tired appearance but sharp eyes is giving them a look which pointedly asks for a response. Liam’s fingers are gripping Zayn’s knee in an almost deadening grasp, but he releases them as he stands, finding his voice.

“Yes? Yes, that’s me. Is it Anastasia? Is she okay?”

The nurse’s face softens considerably at Liam’s obvious earnestness, and holds an arm out directing behind her.

“Your daughter’s fine, Mr Payne. She’s only just come out of recovery a few minutes ago. I can show you where her room is now, if you’d like.”

“Please.”

Liam drags Zayn from the seats by his elbow towards the nurse. As they pass her to go through the door she’s holding open however, Zayn feels another firm touch to his arm. He looks down in confusion to the nurse and her hold on his jacket.

“I’m afraid only family can go through just now. Go home and get some sleep; visiting hours start again at 8:30.”

Liam spins on his feet and he levels a look which Zayn knows from experience could currently persuade the devil himself, but which could harden in a moment to the most formidable glare, likely to terrify the very same devil.

“He is family. He’s her uncle,” Liam says firmly, kindly as ever but leaving no room for discussion, “He  _is_  our family.”

The nurse purses her lips, and looks almost ready to argue, but Zayn had thought she looked like an astute sort of woman, and she doesn’t fail that initial assessment, sighing in wearied defeat and pushing past them both with a resigned, “Fine. Come on then.”

Zayn lets Liam walk through the door into Ana’s hospital room first, but even if Liam hadn’t already been making his way towards her, Zayn would have been able to pick her out instantly in the four-bed room; only one bed is free and the small lump in the far left corner definitely belongs to his Tazzie-devil. She looks so tiny and delicate, still connected to an IV line, although he’s glad to see she doesn’t have any other scary looking tubes or machines attached to her little body; he wasn’t sure what to expect. Zayn has only ever been to hospital with broken bones, or, when he was quite young, there are hazy memories of visiting his Mum in hospital after his sisters were born.

The nurse speaks in gentle, hushed tones as they watch the quiet rise and fall of Ana’s chest. “She’s been given enough drugs that she’ll sleep a couple more hours yet; she’s just letting her body recover a bit,” she must see Liam’s face begin to falter, because she quickly adds, “She’s fine, the surgery went well and they managed to get the appendix out before it ruptured, but it’s still a lot for a wee body to handle, isn’t it? She just needs to sleep it off. As do you, I’d bet.”

Liam really does look dead on his feet, and Zayn can almost guarantee he isn’t much better off. The nurse – and Zayn is starting to feel bad that he didn’t read her nametag when they were still in the brightly lit corridor – nods towards the empty bed next to Ana’s. “No one will mind too much if one of you crashes in that one there. I can always see if there’s a cot lying around somewhere, if you’d like; there’s usually a few about for parents who need to spend the night.”

“Thank you,” Liam’s voice is warmer than Zayn has heard it tonight, and probably much longer; relief flooding it now that he can see his daughter again, not looking too worse for wear considering her ordeal. “I think we’ll be fine, but we appreciate it all the same.”

The nurse glances between the two of them and Zayn gives what he hopes is a grateful smile to the woman.

“Alright, then. The doctor will be around in the morning and will let you know how everything is going. In the meantime, try and get some rest and, if you’re worried about anything, press that button just there – you see it? – and one of the paeds nurses will come sort you out.”

“Thank you,” Liam repeats, barely a whisper, as the nurse leaves them alone with Anastasia in the dimly lit room.

They stand there for a minute or five, just watching, confirming the sight before them, but eventually Zayn speaks.

“You should really take a nap, Li. You look shattered; you heard what she said, Ana won’t wake up for a while longer. I can sit and watch her while you have some shut eye.”

“No, I don’t think I could sleep right now, anyway. Think I might just sit by her bed for a bit, yeah? But you should definitely have a rest; you don’t have to stay if you don’t want, you know.”

If he wasn’t so aware of three sleeping children in the room, Zayn probably would have snorted and sworn at Liam for being so stupid, but as it is, he simply moves a chair as silently as possible to the opposite side of the hospital bed as Liam is sat, and takes a seat himself, absentmindedly smoothing the bedcovers.

“Don’t be daft. Nowhere else I’d rather be. Well, obviously I’d rather none of us were here, but as it stands…” Zayn shrugs; he’s pretty sure Liam knows well enough.

Unsurprisingly, Liam falls asleep before long, arm pillowing his head on the hospital bed, hunched over from his seat. Zayn doubts it’s very comfortable, but he’s not going to complain.

Liam’s fingers are knotted loosely with his own across the bed and, as he listens to the steady, rhythmic inhales - and the slow exhales which somehow soothe an ache he wasn’t aware was hurting - Zayn thinks that maybe he could let his increasingly heavy eyelids fall shut for just a moment.

***

They spend the next two days at the hospital.

Ana wakes up the morning after her surgery, still groggy from sedative and high on painkillers (Zayn really shouldn’t laugh, but a stoned three year old is pretty entertaining). She can’t stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time for a while, but she still expresses her happiness on seeing her father’s face, and Zayn’s right next to it. Liam says that he can already see an improvement on when he brought her in and it’s like a weight has been visibly lifted off of his weary shoulders.

They’re inundated with raucous noise when the rest of the lads arrive later in the day. Zayn had given everyone a call once Ana woke up to let them know what had happened, and they’d all promised to pop round when they had a chance. If any of them had been surprised by Zayn being the one to ring them and deliver the news, no one said anything.

Louis hadn’t been quiet a day in his life, so when he arrives after lunch with Harry in tow, they can hear him almost as soon as he enters the ward; and as he steps through the door Zayn can see he is laden with balloons, not quite obscuring the bright red clown nose he has tied to his face, while Harry carries the much less exciting (to Anastasia anyway) overnight bag with a change of clothes and Liam’s toothbrush. He soon has all the children in Anastasia’s room cackling with high pitched delight, and the nurses keep walking past the door, expressions torn between disapproval at the raucousness and pleasure at seeing the kids forgetting their illnesses and hurts for a few minutes.

Harry stands next to Zayn when he isn’t being dragged into Louis’ antics. He lightly bumps hips with Zayn and gives him a questioning look when he glances up at him; Zayn just knocks back into the younger man and gives him a cheeky grin. It might be his default response whenever anyone questions how he’s going, but for once Harry doesn’t look away disappointed; instead he smiles right back and Zayn can’t help thinking that it might be something to do with the way that this time he actually meant it, that maybe it finally reached his eyes.

By the time Niall and Sammi arrive after work, Louis and Harry have ducked out and come back with pizza; Zayn isn’t entirely sure they’re supposed to have it in here but the nurses seem to have turned a blind eye on their rag tag group and even Liam isn’t complaining. He had expressed a little concern earlier that all the laughter would hurt Ana’s stomach; the three small marks where the surgeons had cut into her were bandaged up out of sight, but Zayn had caught a glimpse of them when a doctor came in to inspect them earlier. He suspected they were going to cause her a bit of pain over the next couple weeks as the skin and muscle knitted itself back together, but for now the morphine seemed to be keeping it well at bay, if her continued giggles and persistent scratching at her nose with the back of her hand was anything to go by; Niall laughed that when he’d gotten his own appendix out a few years back, morphine had been pretty much the best thing about it, but he’d made the skin on his nose almost red raw from trying to rub it right off his face.

It might be an odd setting, and not the most ideal, but it’s the most normal Zayn has felt in a long while. He nearly wishes that Ana isn’t due to be discharged tomorrow.

Niall makes Zayn come home with him and Sam, dropping him off on their way home so he can get a decent nights rest and a shower. He insists he’s fine, but his joints are starting to groan in protest at the thought of another night sleeping in a chair and he  _is_  pretty sure he’s starting to stink something fierce. It has nothing to do with the way that Liam nods his head at him in encouragement and tries to shoo him out with the rest of them, while simultaneously making him promise to come back first thing in the morning because “You’re the only one that can convince Ana to let the doctor check on her scars.”

When they’re leaving late on Thursday afternoon, they all bundle into Liam’s car; Ana grizzling slightly when Liam places her in her car seat, but only because she’s still all clingy and dozy from her final dose of morphine. Zayn’s hoodie holds a fairly large bottle of liquid codeine to keep her pain down once it wears off; he hopes it’s enough. It’s stronger than the paracetamol Liam had at any rate.

Zayn expects them to travel further into the city, towards his apartment, but instead Liam turns them in the direction of his place; Zayn doesn’t notice immediately and chooses not to say anything, although Liam must realise at some point because he shifts slightly in his seat, glancing over at Zayn.

“Sorry, I didn’t think. I just wanted to get her home for now; I can pay for a cab to take you back home later. You can have some dinner with us, yeah?”

Zayn snorts. “’Cause it’s not like I can’t afford my own taxi. I don’t mind, Liam; it’s been an age since I’ve had a meal round at yours.”

The unspoken reason why hangs between them.

Zayn knocks it away and continues, twisting in his seat to look behind him; “Hey Tas, what we gonna have for dinner, eh?”

Ana wrinkles her nose thoughtfully, then her face lights up and announces enthusiastically, “Ice cream!” naming not only her favourite food but also one which she has been inundated with at the hospital over the past day and a half, and apparently not yet sick of it.

He turns back to Liam, raising his eyebrows and failing miserably at wriggling them, if the held back laugh on Liam’s face is anything to go by.

“Well, Dad? Do we have some ice cream stashed at home for brave girls who got their tummy fixed?”

“Is that supposed to persuade me, Zayn? You might have to practice that. But I think we might do…and if not I’m sure we can make Uncle Zayn go fetch us some,” and Liam smiles so brilliantly that he can’t help thinking  _I’d run to the edge of the earth for it if you asked me with that smile_.

“Meanie; it’d be your fault if there isn’t any there in the first place.”

They continue bantering for the rest of the trip; Zayn pulls more funny faces, trying them out on Anastasia before judging them good enough to present to Liam, proud when he finally forces a bark of laughter out against Liam’s will just as they’re pulling into the driveway.

***

“You don’t have to leave tonight if you don’t want to, you know. If you don’t want to get a cab I mean. The fridge is almost out of food, so unless I cave into Ana and let her live off pot noodles for the foreseeable future, I’m going to have to go grocery shopping anyway. I could drop you off then?”

They’re washing the dishes now that Ana’s in bed and out for the count, painkillers apparently doing their job. There aren’t many to do; they’d come home to find a pasta bake in the fridge which only needed heated through, apparently left by a curly-haired elf earlier that day for Liam to come home to. Zayn tries not to think about how perfectly it split between two grown men and a toddler, or how much Harry sees behind his heavy lidded eyes. The dishes probably could have been left for the morning, when there were actually a number worth doing, but Liam is Liam and Zayn has to admit that there is something soothing in the routine of something so familiar after the last days of upheaval. He looks up and Liam’s scrubbing at a spotless plate, eyes flickering back and away from Zayn, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, ok. That’d be good. Didn’t really say see-ya to Tazzie anyway.”

“Good, yeah, good. She would’ve been gutted if she woke up and you were gone.”  _Again_.

Still so many things unsaid between them, between every sentence, intentional or not. Everything had seemed to be getting better again, but there were still so many stilted silences; Zayn wondered if maybe they were past fixing. If there’d always be a slight hesitancy between them.

After they are done, they go back to the lounge and slouch back at opposite edges of the couch, finding old re-runs of The Graham Norton Show. At some point they both end up half lying on and off the sofa and their feet overlap comfortably. This is the easy friendship Zayn has missed.

When an ad break is on, Zayn kicks Liam’s foot, resting on top of his, and speaks without looking away from the TV.

“This was never your fault either, just so you know.”

It’s another of their loaded pauses, the lulls in conversation where both is trying to work out what the other is thinking or, more accurately, whether they actually want to have the discussion that could unfold from it, because they’ve always had a pretty good idea what the other is thinking. And Zayn thinks he’s ready this time; he wants his best friend back, and he’s pretty sure that for that to ever happen, they’re going to have to have this out.

“Yeah, it kind of was, Zayn,” Liam’s weary tone is enough for Zayn to know they’re on the same page. He pulls his legs from Zayn’s entrapment and brings them into his chest, back leaning on the armrest, “You were there and I pushed you away; remember?”

“No, see, what  _I_  remember, was you still grieving – doing better – but still grieving. You weren’t  ready to get into a relationship with me, with anyone. And…I’m pretty sure I knew that. At some level. But I was caught up in the fact that I had finally realised what  _I_  feel for you, that I’m not sure I’ve ever really felt for someone before and I just wanted you to feel the same. I thought you did, you say you did, but,” Zayn grimaces and leans his head back against the back of the couch, blinking furiously, “it wasn’t my call to make and I shouldn’t have forced you into a corner like that. And that is definitely mine to be sorry for.”

He really wants to look over to Liam, to let him know how profusely he means his words, but he can’t bring himself to; he isn’t sure he could handle seeing his expression right now, judging him, or worse, pitying him. Instead, Zayn closes his eyes, wills his face not to betray him and hopes that maybe Liam will finally forgive him and let him be his friend again.

Liam doesn’t say anything for the longest time. Zayn is still waiting for some sort of response when he feels the weight on the sofa shift and then all of a sudden warm lips are moulding themselves to his.

Liam lowers himself so he sits astride Zayn’s lap and his weight is solid and sure and right. And Zayn didn’t realise he had missed this feeling until right this second; there was only the one night before and he had never been sure he was allowed to keep that memory. But then Liam rolls his hips slightly and his tongue is tracing the edge of Zayn’s lower lip and Zayn stops thinking altogether as an aborted groan slips from his mouth.

They kiss, and it’s unrushed and explorative, relearning the feel, the shape, the taste of each other; but there’s an intensity there, too; as though Liam is trying to speak everything through the pressure of his mouth against Zayn’s and the way he holds his face in his hands – securely, like something precious to take care of.

Actions aren’t always sufficient though, and maybe their track record with miscommunication should be warrant enough to require words, explicit and impossible to misinterpret. So Liam pulls back, breathing heavily, and makes sure Zayn’s eyes are focused on his own pupil-blown orbits before he speaks. His thumbs are stroking Zayn’s cheekbones and it all seems very familiar to Zayn, but this time the roles are reversed.

“You don’t see it, do you?” Liam’s voice is soft and low, filled with a disbelieving awe that makes Zayn feel like he might blush, although unsure why. “You say that I blame myself too much, that I feel guilt over things which I shouldn’t. And maybe there is some truth in that. Sometimes. But you don’t realise that you do it too. You sit here, filled with so much guilt and pain that my own heart splinters a little when you try to tell me that everything between us is down to you. And maybe we were both wrong; maybe our timing was off and maybe you shouldn’t have pushed the point when you came back from tour. But maybe I should’ve given you an explanation, asked for time rather than cutting a Zayn-shaped slice from my heart. Because that wound hasn’t been healing, Zayn. I’ve been waiting and waiting for the idea of you, of us to disappear, to at least begin to fade. And instead, I’ve spent every day since you left me and Ana at the airport waiting, hoping, for something else entirely. Even though I never thought I could have it, not since I was so afraid of moving on that I sent you forward without me. Until ten minutes ago. Because you know what?”

Zayn tries to swallow the lump in his throat, the one which keeps rising, tasting bittersweet like hope and loss; he opens his mouth to croak out a  _what?_  But Liam’s mouth catches his once more, tongue sucking gently on his like he simply couldn’t help it. Zayn never wants it to stop, but he pulls back just far enough to catch Liam’s gaze because he has to know what changed. He has to know that this time will be different because he’s not sure he could survive it again.

Liam shakes his head infinitesimally and chuckles almost noiselessly before bringing his mouth close again, not quite touching as he breathes hotly into Zayn’s parted lips.

“You said you realised what you feel for me,” and Liam must know he’s confused because it’s Liam and of course he does, “You said _feel_. Present tense.”

And  _oh._ Zayn had realised as he spoke that he had slipped, but he didn’t think Liam would notice. But apparently he had. And judging by the way Liam’s hand has reached around to grip the back of his head, pulling him closer while he licks into Zayn’s mouth and his other hand wedges itself between Zayn and the back of the couch to stroke the small of his back and dip under the waistband of his sweats, Liam isn’t exactly offended by the thought that Zayn hasn’t been able to let go of him, of them.

There is a lot about it that feels like a warm, often revisited memory, brought to life in amazing technicolour, but it’s all new too; the start of something Zayn’s heart hesitates to call forever, but which pounds out the beat in his chest all the same.

They stumble upstairs to Liam’s room, shedding shirts down the hall and forgetting to be quiet. It’s no longer  _LiamandDanielle’s_ , just Liam’s; the duvet is new, the walls near empty. Memories no longer haunt every corner.

The rest of their clothes are hastily discarded and Zayn wastes no time in pushing Liam down on the bed, in taking his hardened cock into his mouth, in hollowing his cheeks and making Liam keen in pleasure. He wants to figure out just how to make Liam produce a whole range of noises; the soft moans when Zayn bites lightly on the inside of his thighs; the way he near begs when Zayn licks teasingly around the head of his leaking cock, bucking his hips as if he’d quite happily fuck Zayn’s mouth if he didn’t start doing something more proactive with it.

Zayn’s not sure he expects it when Liam tugs him off and flips them over, just as he is sure Liam is near coming. But when Liam pants into Zayn’s ear  _I want to be inside you, want to come inside you_ , Zayn’s dick throbs in anticipation and he is more than willing for Liam to fuck him senseless if it means he gets Liam like this; uninhibited and lovely, looking at him through darkened eyes as though he could strip Zayn down to his very soul and still like what he sees.  _Maybe even love_.

When Liam pushes inside him and  _moves_ , having almost turned Zayn into a boneless mess before he would even begin, Zayn can no longer control the moans and barely comprehensible words which fall from his lips. Liam is new to this, that much Zayn knows, but god is he thorough. He can barely concentrate enough to grasp onto Liam’s shoulders, back, arse, whatever skin he can reach and try and keep his gaze locked onto Liam’s face; there is no way for him to filter his vocalisations, to catch the words as his orgasm rocks through him, the twist of Liam’s wrist around his cock sending him over the edge as Liam continues to thrust into him. Something that sounds suspiciously close to  _love you, Li_  tumbling out; enough to have Liam stutter to his own groaning completion.

They fold together under the covers, having cleaned up the worst of the mess with tissues from the nightstand; two puzzle pieces fitting snug against each other, finally where they belong.

Liam presses a soft kiss to the curve of Zayn’s neck and murmurs quietly into the darkness.

“Will you stay?”

“Always.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> I HOPE YOU LIKED IT AND EVERYTHING TURNED OUT THE WAY YOU HOPED. Please, as always, I would love to hear what you thought and I will hopefully have the epilogue up Sat/Sun because then I'm going to a scary place without wifi for a few days (pray for me tbh).


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